


"Batteries NOT Included"

by Binaryalchemist



Series: THE BATTERIES ARC [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Comedy, Crack, Gay Marriage, M/M, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binaryalchemist/pseuds/Binaryalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward Elric appeared on the Semeopolis late night chat show "TOP STORY"  to discuss his support for Gay Marriage and was asked to tell the audience how his relationship with President Mustang began--a tale involving the search for renewable alchemic energy, blackmail, runaway sex toys and why no sane person would ever allow the Flame Alchemist to pet sit their dog for the weekend</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Batteries NOT Included"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nochick_fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nochick_fics/gifts), [LazyLamia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyLamia/gifts).



> Guest stars Dee Laytner and Ryo Maclean courtesy of "FAKE"  
> The Semeopolis/Bishonen Justice League created by Nochick_Fics who has graciously allowed me to wreak havoc--no pun intended--with her 'verse.
> 
> Dr. Lin and Mr. Spenser are my own creations--I take full blame for them.

BATTERIES NOT INCLUDED  
By The Binary Alchemist  
(Cue Camera 1 on three....two...)  
Laytner: Good evening! I’m Dee Laytner—  
McLane:---And I’m Ryo McLane—  
Laytner:—And welcome to another edition of Top Story---where we get to the bottom of today’s most vital issues, probing deep into the backdoor---er, backstory—to bring the truth to SUX News viewers.  
McLane: Thanks, Dee—Our Top Story tonight—we’re going back for sloppy seconds with last week’s guest Edward Elric. Edward, as you know, is an outspoken opponent of Proposition 69, which seeks to ban Seme/Uke marriage in Semeopolis.  
Laytner: Right you are, Ryo. We’ve invited Edward back as a solo tonight to share some anecdotes about his own relationship with Colonel Roy Mustang, currently heading Semeopolis’s elite defense team, The Bishonen Justice League. Ed, welcome back to Top Story!  
Edward: (looks around nervously) You haven’t got any more crazy women around here, do you?  
McLane: No, Ed, you’re safe. We were hoping you’d shed a little light tonight about your relationship with Colonel Mustang. We know he began as your commanding officer—but how did the love affair come about?  
Edward: (flushing) Well…ah…it began as a discussion over the use of alchemy as a…uhhh…um…source of renewable alternate energy…..

 

“Sit down, Edward.”  
“I’d rather stand.”  
A single dark eye flicked over the rim of his coffee cup. Up to the wary gold eyes. Down to the restless boots that kept scuffing the rug. Lifting a bit, it lingered about halfway between Ed’s collar and his kneecaps. “At ease, Fullmetal—and permission is granted.”  
A gold brow hoisted a fraction of an inch. “Permission? For what?”  
One corner of Mustang’s mouth twitched . “To go potty. The officer’s facilities are down the hall. Ask Hawkeye for a pass—she’s at the guard station this afternoon.”  
Ed scowled at his commanding officer. “What the hell—why do you think I need to go to the shitter?”  
“I’ve been around Elycia often enough,” Mustang observed dryly, “to recognize the way you’re squirming. I assume you have…ah…business to attend to. Take care of it and get back here. We have a few reports to review prior to your annual physical with Doctor Knox.”  
That annoying twig of wispy hair jerked sharply as Edward took a classic defensive posture. “Not going,” he mumbled, eyes darting to the drapes, the wastebasket, the half-gnawed chew toy Black Hayate had nosed between the file cabinets.  
“Really, Edward…most men outgrow their fear of needles by the time they stop wetting the bed. Of course, maturity has hardly been a hallmark of your—“  
“Goddamn you, Mustang! Why can’t you shut the hell up?” Two menacing steps closer, Ed’s metal fingers began to clench and unclench spastically. Mustang glanced up, coolly noting the fine sheen of perspiration on the younger man’s forehead and the high color in his cheeks. “I’m fine. I don’t need any fuckin’ shots, and I sure as shit don’t want him….” His voice trailed off as he doubled over slightly, gritting his teeth and sucking his breath in sharply.  
Concerned, Mustang rose to his feet and stepped quickly to Edward’s side. “Sit down, Fullmetal—that’s an order.” He tried to guide his companion to the sofa. Ed twisted out of his grasp and darted towards the door.  
Snap!  
FOOOOSSSHHHHH!  
“I said sit.” Ed blinked as he observed the smoldering remains of Roy’s umbrella stand beside the door. Pale hands gripped his shoulders and shoved the younger alchemist down on the couch. He yelped, blanched and rocketed back up again. Roy’s hands pushed him back and the younger man began to slouch and wriggle until he had burrowed himself in with his back against the corner of the couch, thighs splayed and feet planted firmly on the floor. “Ed—what the hell is the matter with you? Did you get hurt sparring with Alphonse--?”  
“Al-has-nothing-to-do-with-this-so-leave-me-the-fuck-alone!” The topaz eyes looked desperate. “I’m…fine. Honest. Just….forget it.”  
Mustang took a seat beside his subordinate. “I don’t believe you. In fact, it seems rather apparent that you’re having difficulty sitting up straight. I’m not in Intelligence, but I would hazard a guess that you’ve either injured your lower back or backside—“  
“Uh….”  
“---or hips, for that matter…or you may be suffering from hemorrhoids…..”  
“---that’s disgusting even for you, Colonel—“  
“Not an uncommon soldier’s ailment, Fullmetal. Out on the battlefield for months. Poor food. Stress. It’s nothing Dr. Knox hasn’t seen a thousand times.”  
Ed suddenly looked crafty. “You don’t have them. Know why? It’s because you’re a perfect asshole.”  
Mustang wasn’t impressed by the bon mot. “You’re evading my question, so I’ll make this a direct order: why can’t you sit down?”  
“B-because…I…uh…I’ve got….I mean, there’s something…stuck…there…”  
“Pardon?”  
“I’ve got…something…I can’t…get…out.”  
“Ed, quit mumbling.”  
“I SAID I’VE GOT SOMETHING STUCK UP MY ASS AND I CAN’T GET IT OUT, GODDAMNIT!!!! ARE YOU FUCKIN’ DEAF OR SOMETHING???”  
Half a lifetime of military discipline was the only thing that kept Roy’s jaw from dropping into his lap. There was a muted explosion somewhere in his sinuses that escaped as what might have been a snort of amusement had Mustang not covered it with a feigned cough, muttering something about hay fever. Furious, Ed snapped upright, fist cocked back…and there was a faint sound, similar to the humming and buzzing heard outside every summer when the courtyard dumpster swarmed with wasps and Roy got ordered by his superiors to burn the nests out.  
Angry wasps, if this sound was anything to judge by, as just as if a stinging insect was perched on some tender spot, the younger man sat perfectly still, cheeks burning and eyes peculiarly out of focus. “D-d-damn,” he stuttered. “The box said it had three speeds.”  
Mustang pulled a poker face and nodded sagely. “Hmmm, yes. ‘Low’, ‘High’, and ‘Oh God Make It Stop’. I’m guessing those are alkaline batteries?”  
“They…uh…were. Originally.”  
“Till you tampered with them alchemically.”  
“Al’s always bitching that we’re always running out of batteries for the flashlights and shit. So he made a few that were self-recharging.”  
“Interesting. So—I’m assuming that you have some sort of….massager…and you were using it on some…ah…stiff muscles, Fullmetal?”  
A bead of sweat crawled down his cheek. “Ah…yeah. My low back. Y’know….automail and shit. Kind of pulls things out of whack. And I was just, y’know, sort of moving around to try and get it at the…the right spot.” He was looking desperate now, his thick gold fringe getting stringy and clinging to his damp forehead. “Al sorta…surprised me. I moved wrong…and sat up…and…that thing—massager, I mean—it got…up there.”  
“And you can’t get it out.” Mustang rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his expression mercifully bland. “And you don’t feel comfortable about letting our doctor help you out. Pity you’re not closer to Resembool. Miss Rockbell is familiar enough with your body. Maybe she—“  
“Are you out of your fucking mind!” The horror on Edward’s face was priceless. God, Maes—if you were here and had your camera… “I’d shoot myself in the head before I let her touch me…there.”  
Now, that was a revelation—not that Hughes’ intelligence reports on the kid said anything to the contrary. No girlie magazines had turned up among Ed’s possessions—some had turned up in Al’s underwear drawer—although Ed had a secret stash of ‘physical culture’ and martial arts magazines that featured an array of semi- and nearly nude men in outstanding physical condition. Mustang turned away, folding his hands behind his back and gazing towards the windows. “This…predicament…calls for discretion. I can understand why you might be reluctant to discuss this with anyone. And as your commanding officer, I give you my word that this matter will not be shared or confided with anyone outside this room. Now then,” he turned and smiled slightly, “I believe that the foreign object can be removed with my assistance. I can even provide you with a mild relaxant. Nobody else will have to know about this. Ever. Nor will it ever be mentioned again.”  
Ed wiped his sweaty face on the back of his sleeve. “I must be out of my mind,” he muttered, “but I don’t think I’ve got a choice. You say you’ve got something…?” His eyes darted towards the crystal carafe of brandy that shimmered on the sideboard, a perk for visiting brass.  
Roy nodded and poured a shot for himself—and a double for his companion. “You’ll need it. Drink up,” he ordered. “There’s a bottle of aloe lotion in my locker for sunburn relief. I’ll fetch that and the first aid kit and be back in ten minutes.”  
Actually, it took less than two. Mustang needed more than that to get control of his own emotions. There’s a thin line between love and hate…or at least hate and desire. And ever since he came back…ever since…I…  
“I’ve wanted him.” Saying aloud in the privacy of the empty men’s room finalized his resolve to finally…finally…get things out in the open with Fullmetal. “Wanted him. Waited for him. And now—“  
Now fate had finally thrown down a few cards in Roy Mustang’s favor.  
“Are you all right, Fullmetal?”  
Bonelessly relaxed, Ed lifted his head off the arm of the couch and greeted the Colonel with a hiccup, a giggle and a wave of his hand. “Good shit, Mustang. Damn good. Better’n that piss water beer I drank in Munich.”  
His solitary eyebrow lifted a fraction. “Fullmetal, are you drunk?”  
“Nope. I’m not drunk…I’m ‘runk. There’s a difference. Drunk is when you’re walking into walls and tryin’ to fuck the lamppost. ‘Runk is when you try to brush something off your forehead…an’ it’s the motherfuckin’ carpet. ‘Runk is where ya need to be when you realize you’re gonna let the horniest son of a bitch in the whole goddamned Amestrian army put his hands on your bare ass. Speakin’ of which---“ he rose unsteadily and his trousers and boxers plummeted to his shoes,”—you’re not gonna try to bend me over your desk and do anythin’ kinky are you?”  
“Er…no. Actually, if you would kneel on the couch it would probably be easier for both of us.” Not to mention you won’t be able so see my cock trying to rip out the front of my uniform. Mustang was busying himself behind his desk, making a great show of digging though his drawers for some unidentified item. “I’ve advised Hawkeye to keep the corridor clear and that we are not to be disturbed.  
Ed gave a weird half sob of drunken laughter. “Thass convenient, Roy. I mean, you could be assaulting my virtue up here an’ I could be screamin’ for help and nobody’d come to my rescue, right?”  
“Ed, if you’ve got a three speed sex toy stuck up your ass, turned up on maximum and loaded with alchemically altered batteries, I hardly think your virtue is an issue…am I right?”  
Ed folded his arms on the back of the couch and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. “You wanna know if I’m a virgin?”  
Mustang strode over the couch, dragging his rolling office chair behind him. “The point is not whether or not you’ve been penetrated by anyone other than yourself. The point is that a considerate lover wouldn’t have left you so desperate that you’d get yourself into a predicament like this.” Confronted with a luscious expanse of taut muscle and tender, vulnerable flesh, Mustang grabbed his glass, tossed back the last of his brandy, decided what the hell…leaned in and…  
“Fuuuuckkkkkk!!!!” Ed’s teeth snapped shut on his sleeve as his hips jerked.  
“Shhhhh….you need to relax…Edward…” The General was pushing up his shirt and waistcoat now, leaning in close, stroking his back and shoulders and purring softly in his ear. “Get comfortable…put your mind on something else.”  
Gooseflesh broke out along his bare skin as he righted himself long enough to skim his remaining clothing over his head and hurl it across the room before sinking back, his hips flexing up and down with raw need. “Like…what, damn it?”  
“Mmmmm…like…this… for instance?” Nimbly, Mustang slipped onto the couch, crawled in front of that tanned, compactly muscled torso and then squirmed down until his single eye was in danger of being poked out by something very hot, very hard and very eager to be poked somewhere. Guidance and strokes from a skilled hand aided Ed’s trajectory, and within moments the only sound Mustang could hear clearly was the slap-slapslap-slap! of a pair of exquisitely sensitive balls against his chin. Their sensitivity wasn’t a given—he’d tested it with a few artful caresses as the thick, velvety length nudged insistently with the back of his throat, resulting in some delicious, primal cries somewhere far about his head.  
Roy began to hum the Amestrian National Anthem, hoping that the vibrations would distract his companion long enough to ease a finger in.  
He needn’t have worried. The first nudge of his fingertip hit the speed control button on the vibrator’s base, sending the toy into overdrive against Ed’s sweet spot. Ed shivered and howled and was undoubtedly chewing holes in the leather sofa. Roy offered a silent prayer of gratitude to Maes Hughes who relieved him of both his innocence with men and his gag reflex. A second finger slid in—Fullmetal didn’t notice. Hell, Roy marveled, at this point I could probably shove my whole goddamed arm up there…but I’ve got better plans for my subordinate. He scissored his fingers, hooked and curled…  
…and five inches of Flesh-Flex Super Realistic Vibrating Dong bounced off the coffee table, rolled across the carpet and under Roy’s desk. Ed growled in frustration, suddenly empty…”hoshit….damn….Roy…I need….”  
“—Some of this instead, Fullmetal?” His middle finger circled and stroked. “Or something with a few less batteries…and a lot more thrust?”  
Two hours later—two very, very sweaty hours later, a sober and satiated Edward Elric was doing up his cuff buttons as Mustang coolly rearranged himself behind his desk and tried to look as authentically interested in his paperwork as a man could after three mind-wrenching orgasms and a promise of supper, coffee, good alchemic conversation…and probably some mild bondage games. He shifted his feet…and something buzzed against his boot. “And Edward?”  
“What?”  
Mustang waggled the toy at his new lover. “Remember this about gratification. This may run forever on batteries—but my toy has a large handle attached for safety”  
Ed tossed him a wicked grin. “Yeah, but it’s a biological anomaly.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“A dildo attached to the biggest asshole in Amestris. Who knew?” he chuckled as he ducked out the door, slamming it behind him.  
#####  
“Crap.”  
Not in the desk  
“Shit.”  
Not under the bookcase.  
“FUCK! Not under the sofa, either!” Roy was starting to panic. Damn thing wasn’t safe around this office. Like some sort of malevolent latex time bomb, The Vibe That Refused To Die had a horrible knack for turning itself on –and the goddamned thing buzzed like a nest of exceedingly pissed off hornets. Worse, it…squirmed. He’d been toying with it one afternoon as Hughes stopped by to regale him about how he’d dressed Gracia up in a frilly tutu to play Tooth Fairy for Elycia (“God, she looked so hot, I just had to bend her over and---“). Roy had dumped a pile of requisition forms over the nubby latex love toy and prayed it would behave itself—however one of the least amusing characteristics of a love toy with alchemically enhanced batteries was that sometimes even the slightest vibration could trigger the ON switch…and it kept going…and going…and going.  
Everything had been fine until Hughes, overcome by his own wit, pounded his fist on Roy’s desk as he whooped over the punch line of some highly forgettable joke. A two foot tall stack of papers began inching its way across the Colonel’s desk, making mmrrrooowwww-mmmrroowww-mrrrroowwww sounds. Before he could stop his friend, Hughes had lifted the pile and gaped at the wriggling device. There was an awkward silence. Finally, Hughes slapped the Colonel’s shoulder with a sympathetic nod. “Happens to the best of men—well…not to me, but y’know, Roy…sooner or later you’ll be feeling like yourself again. I’m sure the ladies just looooove this thing, don’t they? Be careful, though—they say women can get hooked on these things and before you know it, they---“

Hughes got off easy. Eyebrows grow back. Eventually.

That’s what started it—the rumors that the fabled, indefatigable Mustang, had…well…lost his…get up and go. Women looked worried. Havoc, who was apparently nailing something these days, looked smug. Hawkeye looked disgusted.  
And Fullmetal? The evil little shit just sniggered…when his mouth wasn’t full of cock. The one goddamned person in Central who could proudly testify that the Little Colonel was still saluting was the one person Roy was bribing to keep quiet.  
With sex. Lots of it.

Damn it, the younger man was fucking insatiable…and dangerously creative. Together they defied the Laws of God, Man, and Physics. In the shower. On the desk. On the trampoline in the gym---General Hakuro noticed the wet spots and blamed it on someone’s leaky water bottle. In the kitchen with a whole papaya---Roy had lost the bet, however he had to admit that as kinky as it sounded, those little seeds in the middle felt….damned intriguing. Even better when they lopped off the other end and Ed lapped the head of his cock each time he plunged in.  
He nearly had a heart attack when it turned up in the fruit salad delivered to the Fuehrer when he stayed for lunch the next day. “Made it myself, Sir,” the Little Blonde Monster smirked as he delivered the tray. “Great source of….protein.”  
“One more stunt like that,” Roy had warned him sotto vocce, “and that braid of yours is going to make one hell of a fuse when I snap my fingers.”

Adding insult to injury was the snake in the warehouse. Breda had nearly pissed himself, screaming bloody murder that there was a venomous spitting cobra that must have been concealed in a shipment of uniforms sent over from the Eastern islands. Mustang had been called in to investigate, and having noticed bits of shed skin around some crates, he phoned for the post vet team to take care of it. He’d expected kindly old Doc Muckefus—whom Edward delighted in calling “Fuckin’ Moose”. Instead, he’d gotten Doc’s new partner, Dr. Lin, a transfer from Brigg’s Mountain and no stranger to wildlife. She’d turned up with a snake hook and a gunny sack and informed him she’d capture it for the Central Zoo. “No point killing it if I can take it alive,” she grinned. “True spitting cobras are endangered. Just leave it to me—I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got it.”

He’d been out on the PE course, leading the men in some push-ups when the vet drove by and honked to get his attention. “Mustang—I’ve seen your ‘spitting cobra’ It was hiding in the trousers. That pitiful little thing wouldn’t spit if you poked at it all night. I can’t say I’m impressed. And it died the moment I got it in my hands.”  
Bad enough there were rumors that Mustang couldn’t cut it beneath the sheets—but to have a buxom redhead yelling to the troops that she wasn’t impressed by the snake in the Colonel’s trousers…well….it was enough to take the starch out of the most rampant of peckers. 

And now…he couldn’t find that motherfucking vibrator. “Where are you, you son of a bitch?” he cursed, crawling around, poking behind the curtains.  
“Mmrrrooowwww-mmmrroowww-mrrrroowwww” The friggin’ sex toy was alive. Alive and sentient and determined to destroy his life. Soon as he got his hands on the squirming bastard , he’d melt it down to a puddle of goo. Ed, of course, would demand a replacement, although what the hell he wanted with a vibe when he had something a lot warmer with a man-sized handle attached to it….made no sense at all…  
“Colonel!”  
Roy shot up, the top of his head smacking the corner of his desk. “WHAT, goddamnit!” he snarled.  
“You promised to take care of Black Hayate this weekend, sir. I’m on furlough.” Hawkeye’s pet barked for emphasis as his owner proffered the end of a stout leather leash to her commanding officer.  
“Right….fine…whatever….you’re dismissed.”  
“Sir, what about…?” She tried to hand him the leash, but he was briskly rubbing his scalp, searching for lacerations.  
“Turn him loose and shut the door,” Roy grumbled. “Worse he can do is pee on the carpet—no, put your gun away, Lieutenant. I’m sure he’ll behave himself. Dismissed!”

A string of long, boring and absolutely essential phone calls kept Roy busy the remainder of the afternoon. Hawkeye had thoughtfully provided a couple of chew toys for Black Hayate, and the dog spent a blissful afternoon alternately gnawing away and snoozing in puddles of warm sunlight spilling from the open windows.  
After a while, he padded over and pawed at Roy’s leg, whimpering. “Gotta go, boy?” Roy enquired kindly, scratching the mutt affectionately behind the ear. “That makes two of us. You’re coming home with me---and whatever you see, don’t report it back to your mom, okay?”

“Hell, I don’t care if he watches,” Ed grinned wickedly.  
Roy downed his scotch in a gulp. “Damn, for a moment I was afraid you’d say you didn’t care if he joined in.”  
“What the fuck do you think I am—some kind of pervert?” Ed snapped.  
Roy feigned innocence. “Let’s see….I lost a bet and you made me fuck a papaya---then you served it to Bradley….you transmuted a facial massager into an EverReady fuck-toy with a mind of its own…you asked me if I liked to eat Almond Joys, and when I seaid yes you painted your balls with chocolate, covered them with coconut and sang, “sometimes you feel like a nut” . You’re not a pervert—you’re depraved.”  
“That’s because I’m deprived—now, lemme see that cobra of yours, Mustang. Maybe if I rub its hood the right way it’ll spit for me. Whadyathink?”

His tummy hurt.  
His mommy would have noticed. His mommy would have cooed and cuddled him and made the hurt go away.  
His mommy loved him.  
The Colonel, on the other hand, wasn’t paying attention to his whimpering and whining. The Colonel was doing plenty of whimpering and whining on his own. He had his nose in The Loud Blonde Cat Lover’s butt, so obviously they were being friendly.  
But his tummy still hurt…and the Colonel was the one taking care of him. He pawed at the mattress. The Colonel ignored him. Maybe he had to ‘be friendly’ too…  
“GAAAAHHHAAAAAAAAAHHHAAA!!!!!!” Something cold and wet intruded between the Colonel’s buttcheeks.  
It did not belong to Edward Elric.

“Roy…calm down….remember, you LOVE dogs….right?”  
Mustang was livid. “Love…dogs….right. That doesn’t mean,” he thundered, “that I want a goddamn dog’s nose up my ass!”  
“He doesn’t look right.”  
Roy stared at Ed. “What?”  
“He’s whining. Like he’s hurt or something.”  
Black Hayate shivered, let out a low whimper and vomited all over the carpet.”  
“Shit, that could be serious!” Roy jumped over Ed, knelt down on the floor and examined the dog carefully. “He’s drooling---that’s can’t be good. We’d better get him to the vet.”

Twenty minutes later they were banging on the door of the vet’s office. Ed had dialed ahead and been told by the answering service the vet would meet them there.  
The door swung open and Mustang was greeted by a familiar, slightly sadistic grin. “Evenin’, Colonel Mustang! How’s your spitting cobra??”

“You’re dead.”  
Unlike the coffee at Central, the swill Mustang contemplated in the paper cup from the vending machine in the hall was…crunchy. Unidentified bits he prayed were coffee beans gone astray kept sticking to a tongue that had gone suddenly dry as dust the minute Dr. Lin peeled back Black Hayate’s gums and made an ugly noise at how pallid they were. “He’s in shock, Colonel, “ she snarled. “What the hell did you do to him?”  
“You are so fuckin’ dead.”  
He swirled the watery brown mess and stared morosely into its depth, as if hoping to divine a way out of what would shortly prove to be a life threatening situation with his right hand subordinate.  
“Soon as Hawkeye gets back and finds out you killed her dog---“  
Swirl-swirl-swirl. Swallow. Grimace. Spit out the chunky bits. Pray for enlightenment.  
“God, what are we going to do with the body? I mean, are you gonna bury it, or-“  
…and if Ed didn’t shut the hell up, he’d put down the coffee and read the little shit’s entrails for answers instead.  
“Edward. Listen carefully.” He enunciated every syllable for emphasis. “If. I. Hear. One. More. Word….I will shove an alchemically amplified magnet…forcefully..into..that insufferable…ass of yours…and I will stick your automail to the bumper of my car…and I will stomp on the gas pedal…and ram you head-first straight through the base of the War Memorial. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”  
Amber eyes regarded him with something close to sympathy. A metal hand clasped his arm as a leather clad butt slid closer and a golden head nestled against his cheek. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Maybe he’ll be all right.  
“Let’s hope so.”  
“Dr. Lin’s good. Al takes all his strays to her. She always finds homes for ‘em. She’s a lot nicer than Ol’ Fuckin’ Moose.” He smirked. “”Fuckin’ Moose…” He snickered at his own wit.  
“You were saying something about shutting up, Edward?”  
“Yeah. Only…I was thinking…”  
“Now I’m afraid…”  
“Well…he was okay when we left the office, right?  
Mustang nodded. “And there wasn’t anything he could have gotten into in the bedroom.”  
“Yeah,” Ed grinned. “Not like he choked on a condom—unless you’ve been fuckin’ around on me…” He snatched the coffee out of Roy’s numb hands, took a large mouthful which he quickly spat into the ashtray. “Tastes like ass…oh, sorry! Didn’t mean—“  
“Magnetized. Straight to the bumper.” He ruffled his fringe in frustration “Soon as we…know…something. Anything.”  
“Yeah. Listen…if she shoots you, leave me your books, willya??”

KerrBLAM!  
Two heads swiveled as the door slammed open. Two jaws dropped. Dr. Lin and her assistant had been transformed into human Dalmatians, dappled from head to shoes in black and white. “Liquid charcoal,” she told them coolly. “Neutralizes ingested toxins. Came up as soon as it went down. And radio-opaque barium solution. A full quart.”  
“How’d you get that down his throat if he puked up the charcoal?” Ed wanted to know.  
“It didn’t go in that end.” She wiped the muck off her glasses and gestured for them to follow her into the treatment room.  
A miserable wad of white-splashed black fur whimpered pitifully on the exam table. The doctor gently scratched him behind one ear and he feebly thumped his tail.  
The vet gestured to a set of radiographs pinned to a light box. “The images are good and clear,” she pointed to the shadowy images. “There’s nothing obstructing him. Nothing that’s showing up on the x-rays. No tears. Nothing broken. At least…nothing I can see. Nothing evident to external view….but it’s clear he’s suffering from some kind of intestinal trauma. Now,” she folded her arms and her eyes narrowed tightly behind her spotty lenses, “I want to know exactly where he was and what he was doing when he became ill.”  
Roy Mustang, reared in a whorehouse and a man of creative and occasionally perverse sexual preference, did not believe himself capable of blushing.  
Not until now.  
“He was…with us.”  
“In the bedroom,” Ed offered helpfully.  
“I see. Were you watching him?”  
“Ah. No. We were—“  
“—reading. And talking about alchemy.”  
A curt nod. “In the bedroom. Together.”  
“Um…yeah,” Ed nodded. Roy’s spine stiffened almost audibly. Last thing Roy needed was for it to get out all over Central that he and Roy were leaving wet spots all over the desk and sucking each other off in the supply closet whenever Hawkeye left for lunch. “Yeah,” Ed expanded on the subject. “My back was hurting—automail limbs, ya know—and so I was lying down…and Roy was sitting next to the bed and we were going over this text about—“  
“Spare me,” she cut him off. “So…Hayate was choking and gagging and vomiting while you two boys were casually chatting about alchemy. I can’t believe you didn’t notice him. That’s irresponsible. Colonel, I thought you liked dogs.”  
Mustang’s dark brows shot up several inches. “Now, wait a minute—“  
“Seems to me, that was quite a…deep…discussion. But then, I know you State Alchemists often engage in…oral discourse.”  
Ed’s mouth dropped open. A sharp glare from Roy closed it.  
“Whatever he needs, see to it, Doctor. I want him to have the best. Spare no expense.”  
“I’ve got him mildly sedated. I’ll start him on IV fluids and monitor him tonight. If we don’t see a significant improvement in twenty-four hours, I’ll have to go in and see what kind of obstruction we’re dealing with.”  
Roy paled slightly. “Is he…what are the chances—“  
“Of survival? Slim to none if we can’t find and remove the obstruction. And I’ll tell you this, Colonel—if we have to operate I feel obligated to call Lieutenant Hawkeye, even if she did leave him in your care. If he lives, I’ll suggest that in future she boards him here. At least we won’t be so busy…amusing ourselves…to overlook an animal in distress.”  
Roy gulped hard, nodded, gave Hayate a pat on the head and spun on his heel to leave.  
“Oh…and Colonel?”  
“Yes?”  
“Your pants are on inside out.”

 

“Fine! “ Roy chirped, just a little too brightly into the receiver. “Black Hayate is just fine. And I’ve good news, Lieutenant—command has sent word that your furlough has been extended three more days, so if you and Rebecca want to…you know…No, everything’s fine. Falman’s been a great help keeping the paperwork from piling up on my desk. Now, I resent that—I am not slacking off. I am perfectly capable and self motivated and—that’s not amusing, Lieutenant. The world will not tilt off its axis if you take three more days of leave—and your dog will be fine. Just fine…”  
“Shit, you’re a crappy liar,” Ed observed, his nose buried in the Classified columns of the Central Times. “Any idea what breed he is? I mean, there’s lots of dogs for sale—“  
The edge of the page began to smolder. “Stop right there. He’s going to be all right. She is never, ever going to find out—“  
“—how the hell are you going to manage that? That would involve shutting up the doc—“  
“—which I will accomplish if I have to…” He stopped himself short. Rising abruptly, he opened the liquor cabinet and hauled out a dusty bottle, aptly labeled “Stray Dog Scotch Whiskey”. He stared at it for a long moment before pouring a measure into a shot glass and tossing it back, grimacing as it burned his throat.  
Maes had snuck back into the dorm one night with that very bottle and taught Roy that the vilest, cheapest rotgut tasted memorable when savored on a lover’s skin for the first time. Just before reveille he’d slipped out into the fog that shrouded the barracks parade ground and hastily buried the half-bottle in a hole scrapped out with bare hands and clumsy alchemy, stashed in an empty ammo box he’d kept letters from Aunt Chris in.  
He’d dug it up years later on Maes’ wedding day, salty trails dry on his cheeks, no longer a trespasser but a decorated war hero. Hawkeye kept her eyes to the road, allowing him privacy in the back seat as he choked down the wretched stuff, sparing most of the remains. Those memories, sometimes, were the only goddamn moments of levity in a lifetime where power and authority meant keeping one’s emotions under lockdown.  
Until now.  
Damn that little bastard. Roy shuddered slightly as the rotgut hit his empty stomach. Thought I had it all thought out and compartmentalized, Maes. Then this cocky little runt comes stomping into my office and calls me an asshole and before I know it he’s kicked his way into my life, forced me to feel…for the first time since you ripped my guts out over a woman…  
Ed, of course, didn’t have a clue.  
“Right—get shitfaced. Get shitfaced and go fuck that redhead until she keeps her mouth shut and Hawkeye never finds out and shoots you in the ‘nads. Some fuckin’ great military strategist.”  
“Maybe I will. And while I’m gone you’ll have to just find yourself another battery operated buddy to amuse yourself with—and if anybody’s at fault for Hayate being ill, it’s you, Ed. If you hadn’t come whining to me we’d never be in this mess. ‘Oh, Colonel—you’ve got to help me! I’ve got something stuck up my ass and I can’t get it out!’ Only an imbecile would shove it up that far in the first place.”  
Ed rose angrily. He glared at Mustang, offered him a gleaming metal middle finger, and stomped out the door, slamming it so hard the windows rattled.

Mustang stared after him for several minutes. Then he reached for the phone. “Dr. Lin? I know you’re staying late with Black Hayate. That’s my fault, and I’d like to make it up to you. May I bring you some supper? I know this very good Xingese restaurant near your clinic…”  
His heart hurt.  
Goddamn Mustang. “You stick your dick in that woman and…swear to Ishballa I’ll fuckin’ bite it off if you bring it within a mile of my mouth.”  
He felt bad about the dog—really bad, truth be told. “But it’s not like I did anything. If he ate anything in the office, that’s Roy’s fault. And if Hayate died, Hawkeye would shoot his short hairs off…at fifty yards.  
He groaned and buried his face in the pillow. Damn it. Now I’m hard. Never got to finish what we started. And it was so…damn..good.  
One finger. Stroking soft, soft as the brush of warm lips, silken heat and sweetness. He shivered, remembering that look of lazy tenderness under the sweat damp fringe of dark hair—and the smug pride that he could push Ed just so far.  
Just so far…  
…Just…so…  
…so…ohhhh….  
…I’ll…hnnnnnggghhh…I’ll BITE it off…y-you…hahhhh…ohhh…fuuuuuck…  
“YOU BASTARD!!!!!!”

…..To Be Continued….

 

“I believe the phrase is ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’, Colonel Mustang. I don’t recall asking anything about your…erm…intimate life. I don’t recall wanting to know.”  
A carton of steaming noodles in a savory broth fragrant with ginger. A carton of pan fried dumplings—Ed’s favorite, come to think of it. Silken tofu in a spicy black bean sauce. Juicy chunks of chicken in a rich almond gravy over rice, accompanied by a flask of hot green tea. And a frosty bottle of imported XingTsao beer. Dr. Lin eyed the feast with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. If this was Mustang’s idea of bribery, she’d have to catch him with his pants down—metaphorically speaking—more often.  
He seemed pretty inept with the bottle, though. “Have you got a pocket knife or blade I can borrow? I need to break the seal.”  
She passed him a scalpel and he nodded his thanks, running it along the foil seal—and right across the ball of his thumb. “Shit!”  
It was a good one, right across a small blood vessel, so he managed to drip blood all over his shirtsleeve before she got a good look at it. “You’ll need a suture. Nice work. Will it keep you from snapping fire at people?”  
Roy made a wry face and dug in his pocket for a handkerchief. “It’s fine, really. The bleeding will stop.”  
“And start up again in no time. Don’t be a baby—won’t take a moment.” She laid a clean drape over the corner of the break room table, fetched her suture kit and a half cc of lidocane. 

“Very neat work, Doctor.” Mustang nodded as she wrapped the gauze with a little Vet Wrap left over from bandaging a kitten’s paw this evening. “Do I get a rabies shot too?”  
“And a tag for your collar as a Dog of the Millitary, sir.” She pocket her scissors and gestured toward the cold remains of their supper. “We could heat it up in the autoclave, I suppose…but you’re not here about dinner. You’re here to shut me up, not fill me up, unless I’m mistaken.”  
Go on, fuck her, you son of a bitch!  
And once upon a time, he mused, I’d have done it and not think twice about it. She’d see through it…and I…  
…I want Ed. Anal excruciation that he is—that pint sized pain in the ass has ruined me, even for the most casual romping around. Damn him…  
“All right. Cards on the table, Doctor. Edward and I are lovers. Hayate was fine when we brought him home. He followed us into the bedroom and threw up, so we got dressed—“  
“—semi-dressed, you mean,” she chuckled.  
“—and got over here as quickly as we could. As I said, he was perfectly fine when we came home. I gave him the food the Lieutenant left for him. He got one biscuit. There were no chemicals lying around, nothing he hasn’t seen before when he stayed with me. So I honestly have no idea what happened, and Ed and I are both seriously concerned.”  
“You should be. Hawkeye will kill you.”  
“I’m aware of it.”  
She studied the beer in her glass and sighed. “I’m sure you’re also aware that this is fraternization. And that homosexual behavior is frowned upon by the State Millitary.”  
Mustang offered her a cunning smile. “And I’m aware that you are legally bound not to tell anyone, /Doctor.”  
“How do you figure that, Colonel?”  
He waggled his bandaged thumb at her with a wink. “I’m relying on your…professional ethics….”

 

“I suppose I need to put that mess away,” Dr Lin muttered after she’d shooed that flame-shooting schemer out the door with a promise to update him in the morning. There was a mountain of food left over. It make a decent lunch tomorrow. “Hayate? Let me check your vitals, boy.” She unlatched his cage and reached for her stethoscope when the phone rang. “Shit—be right back, boy!”  
“Uhhh…hello? Doctor Lin? Um, this….this Edward. Elric. Ahh…I just wanted to know—“  
She smothered a laugh. The little bugger is jealous! Did he think Mustang was coming over to…? “Edward. Yes. Were you checking up on Black Hayate?” Or on your lover? There was a strong temptation to play with the kid’s head…nahhh. Maybe not a great idea when he’s sleeping with a man who could incinerate entire Ishballan villages with the snap of his fingers. “I’m checking him before turning in, but I’m sleeping in the office tonight—just in case he needs me.”  
On the other end she heard an odd crunch, followed by silence, rather as if someone on the other side had pulverized the receiver between steel fingers.

Phone booths, evidently, were not as sturdy as they needed to be. The receiver was crumbled into a handful of plastic scrap and copper wire, while the door had folded under one swift kick from a foot that never felt the impact. Ed shot out of the phone booth like a cat with its ass on fire. 

He felt like smashing something. Or fucking someone…preferably on the hood of Roy’s car. He wanted to get drunk—no, not drunk…’runk. That’s what Havoc called , wasn’t it? “’Runk is when you try to brush something off your face…and it’s the carpet!” Yeahhh…that sounded like a good idea…

“G’wan, ya little pissant! Come back when you’re eighteen!”  
The twig above his eyebrows began to quiver with rage. “Pissant?? Listen, asswipe—I’m nineteen—“  
The bartender towered over him, a wad of tobacco jammed in his cheek fouling his breath as he leaned in close. “Bullshit. I bet you don’t have hair one on your nutsack. Beat it, kid. You’d better go back to your mama—kid your age should be suckin’ on the titty, not on a bottle of..HOLY SHIT!!!!!”  
Somewhere between kid your age and holy shit a pair of well worn leather trousers hit the bar room floor, followed by a pair of light blue boxers.  
Followed, in turn, by a damp cud of tobacco that splatted on the counter as the bartender gawked at Ed’s….  
Ed’s…  
Ed smirked proudly, gesturing towards a modest thicket of blond curls and his…Edhood. “You were saying?”  
The bartender was speechless for a moment. “Damn, boy.”  
“Impressive, ain’t it?”  
“Impressive??” The bartender hooted and slapped his hand on the bar. “I’ve seen more meat on a dirty fork!”  
“FUCK YOU!!” Heedless of his drafty nether realms, Ed lunged across the bar to choke the piss out of his taunter.  
“With that?? I’d be poked worse with a sewing needle, kid!”  
Ed scrambled across the barstools to get at the grinning moron with the foul breath and hair poking out of his earholes, determined to give the bastard an automail ass-whooping he’d never forget. He was groping for the man’s shirt collar, a cold metal fist cocked back for action when the door jingled and a chilly wind flew right up his bare behind.  
“Good evening, Sweeney!” A familiar voice called through the open door. “Scotch on the rocks with a twist of…ass?” The door slamed shut. Ed didn’t notice, being too absorbed in trying to throttle the barkeep with one hand while aiming wild punches with the other.  
“FULLMETAL! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”  
“Don’t call me short hung, you hairy-eared goat-fuckin’ shit licker! I’ll ram my fist down your throat and pull your nuts out your nostrils—aaaaggghhh!!!”  
A slender finger of flame danced in that warm crevice between his buttocks, singeing a bit of downy blonde peach fuzz but just narrowly avoiding a real burn. Clutching at his bum, Ed squealed and spun around, his dangling trousers catching on the barstool as he fell, landing spread-eagle at the Colonel’s feet.  
He was so dazed he didn’t hear the bell ring again. “Evenin’ Sweeney! How about a nightcap for my beautiful wi—SWEET ISHBALLA ON FLAMING ROLLERSKATES! Gracia! Don’t look, honey!”  
Mustang’s face was impassive. “Put on your pants before I have you arrested. This is conduct unbecoming the military.”  
Dizzy, Ed reared up on his elbows, rubbing his bruised forehead. “Aw, suck my dick, Roy!”  
Dead silence. To his horror, Gracia began to giggle uncontrollably.  
Hughes winked and slapped Roy on the shoulder. “Must be love, Roy-buddy. But look on the bright side—I bet you never have to work about a sore jaw in the morning.”  
“You should talk, Hughes!” A roundhouse punch caught his best friend right in the gut.  
“Maes!” Gracia turned on Roy so fast he never saw the handbag that smacked him square across the lip. “You…you…evil, dirty man! How dare you mention that again, Roy Mustang! Oh! If I weren’t a lady—“  
Roy wiped at his bleeding lip and bowed. “But you are, and so you’ll take pity on this poor boy and excuse yourself to the ladies’ room while we help Fullmetal get his pants on again.”

“I hope you’re proud of yourself, Fullmetal.”  
“Shut the fuck up, asshole.”  
A handful of cracked ice wrapped in a kitchen towel made a decent makeshift cold compress. Nevertheless, Roy’s bottom lip looked swollen as a plum, while Ed’s forehead was sporting a bandage.  
“You set my ass on fire.”  
“I did not.”  
“Yes you did! I could smell the hair singe…not that I have a hairy ass or nothin’.”  
“Nonsense.”  
Ed twisted his neck and pulled out the back of his trousers. “I bet I got a blister back there.”  
Roy took a sip of scotch and instantly regretted it. It burned like hell. “That’s your all-too-vivid imagination.”  
“I’m gonna check.” Ed stomped off down the hall, throwing his shirt over his head. In the bathroom, Roy could hear the faint chink! of a belt buckle hitting the tile floor. He ruffled his hair and sighed heavily. Kill him or kiss him? Damn…you get me so confused sometimes…

In the end, he wound up not killing him.

“Told you there was a blister, fucker.”  
“Mmmmm…want me to kiss it better?”  
“Not with pussy on your breath.”  
“Edward. The only time she touched me,” he offered his thumb for inspection, “was when she stitched me up.”  
“How the hell did that happen?” Ed demanded, grabbing at his lover’s hand.  
“Owww, easy! I had to find a way to tell her the truth and keep her mouth shut. So I decided to cut my hand, have her treat me and then claim—“  
“—Doctor-Paitent Confidentiality. You bastard.”  
“Dog of the Military, that’s me. Now,” his hands slid down to caress the taut cheeks, one finger lightly stroking the faintly reddened spot just above the cleft, “as I was saying, want me to…kiss it better, Fullmetal?”

TO BE CONCLUDED……

“Pussy Breath” An interesting change from Ed’s usual endearments, such as Smirking Bastard, Colonel Shit, and You Conniving, Evil Fucker. However, unlike those other witticisms , this one wasn’t true.  
At least, not this time.  
Ed planted the palm of his hand in the middle of Roy’s face and shoved hard when Roy leaned in for a kiss. “Don’t you dare kiss me after doing….that…to that lady vet,” he growled. “Brush your goddamn teeth and gargle.”  
Roy winced and dabbed at his spilt lip. It started bleeding again. “For the third and final time, I did not engage in cunnilingus—hell, in any kind of –ingus whatsoever with Dr. Lin. The only thing I stuffed her with was potstickers and almond chicken.”  
“And you didn’t bring any potstickers back for me as an apology? Selfish bastard.”  
Roy’s eyes danced mischeviously. “Well…if you’re hungry…do you want to eat before…or after?”  
“During. So make sure they leave the chili oil out of the dipping sauce, okay?”

Shot down again. Damnit.  
Evangeline had been some looker. Boobs…no, scratch that. BOOOOOOOBS. The most glorious set of ta-tas Jean Havoc had ever hoped to get his hands around. Round and firm and high and when she leaned over in that low cut frock there was a tantalizing glimpse of pink that he was pretty sure would not lick off…but he’d certainly not object to giving it his best shot.  
And things had been going so well. Right up to the point where he casually bragged that he worked for Colonel Roy Mustang…  
Goddamn the man! Did every broad have to act like that whenever they mentioned the Chief’s name?? Like the man caused a drippy sea of wet-ons every time he walked past the secretarial pool—and Evangeline was no exception.  
Only this time Havoc was the one who got wet. He’d dryly commented that maybe-just maybe, mind—Roy was inclined to play for…the other team.  
It had gotten him a full glass of house Chablis right in the chest, followed by his own imported lager, just before she rushed out of the Officer’s Club, sobbing wildly.  
Fortunately, he’d left his dry cleaning in his locker in Mustang’s office. He’d wear the clean uniform to work on Monday and drop the booze-soaked clothes off at the cleaner’s when he picked up the Colonel’s dress uniform.  
Come to think about it, he’d also left a couple of girlie magazines in his desk. They’d come in handy. “Looks like another night with Rosie Palm and her Five Sisters,” he quoted the old barracks joke and began half humming, half singing the old bawdy:  
Rosie, gal, you wear my ring  
Shake it hard and make it swing  
Squeeze me, please me, tease me too--  
“‘Cause no one does me like I do!,” he bellowed, grinning as the brown paper parcel slipped inside his jacket.  
“Mrrrrowlll-mrrrrrowll-mmmmmmmmrrrrrrrrrrr”  
“What the hell???” Havoc swung around, looking slightly flushed and very guilty. “Who’s there?!? Colonel? Ed?? ANYbody???”

“I guess that takes care of lunch for the next week or so.” Dr. Lin surveyed the stack of neat paper cartons she had labled and stashed inside the office fridge alongside the vials of bordatella vaccine. She was a little puzzled, though. “Could have sworn we had a full order of potstickers…guess the Colonel took ‘em home to his laddie-love. She chuckled over the unlikely couple. “Heard he’s from Resembool—wonder if all the jokes are true?” Resembool was famous for its sheep—and jokes about sheep. “Bet Ed’s idea of foreplay is having Roy dress up in a wool sweater…” Chuckling, she settled down on to the cot and set her alarm for six am…

Riza Hawkeye smiled when people weren’t around. And after seeing Rebecca, she smiled a lot. The Colonel had suspiciously offered to extend her leave for another day. “That means he’s up to something,” she sighed as Rebecca helped her pack.  
“So you’re planning to sit up all night in his office and catch him when he comes in?” Rebecca wanted to know.  
“Naturally. Otherwise we’ll be hip deep in requisition forms that should have been finished a month ago.  
Rebecca laughed and shook her head. “Kind of like job security, I guess. Mustang can’t fire you or everybody would know what a slacker he is. Oh well, if it comes down to love or duty—“  
Hawkeye saluted her lover. “A well organized officer has time for both. I’ll see you at the Briggs Manouvers in six weeks.”

She’d slept on the train and gotten an early breakfast at the coffee shop by the depot before driving to HQ, taking along a box of fresh crullers to share with coffee, plus a half-dozen cinnamon buns for the Colonel. Roy would have one and Ed would devour the rest with half a pot of black coffee. Buzzing from sugar and caffeine, he’d bolt out of the office and stay out of their hair for the rest of the morning, which meant she might be able to chop that massive stack of forms down to a manageable pile before lunch.  
Driving across post, she noticed the lights were on at the Veterinary Clinic. “I need another refill of that ear mite medicine for my Braha,” she mused, Braha being her pet name for Black Hayate. It wasn’t quite six yet. Dr. Muckenfoose wouldn’t mind. Especially if she brought him those cinnamon buns she’d intended for the Colonel. She pulled in the parking lot and was just about to knock at the emergency entrance when she heard an ear-splitting howl that quickly became an agonized yelp. Miss Bragdon, the morning shift vet tech was shouting and faintly Hawkeye heard a muffled, “Goddamn it, I’m coming!”  
Sounded like Dr. Lin was on duty—moreover, that she had her hands full. “I’ll stop by later and bring Braha in after the Colonel brings him to work this morning.

She was two paces from the swinging doors to the office wing when Jean Havoc knocked her flat on her ass. “Second Lieutenant Havoc, what the hell is going on here?” she spluttered as he helped her to her feet. Before he could answer, a lurid magazine emblazoned with title “Titantic Tits—Featuring Hot Girl-on-Girl Action with Velvet and Misti!” tumbled out of the Second Lieutenant’s jacket, along with a roll of latex gloves and a jar of petroleum jelly obviously pilfered from the supply closet and the first aid kit.  
“Lieutenant Hawkeye! There’s something…I don’t know what the hell it is…but something’s loose in the Colonel’s office.” He flushed up to the tips of his ears and hastily stashed his ill gotten supplies inside his jacket and pockets, rolling up the offensive literature and stuffing it under his arm as he saluted sloppily.  
Hawkeye was instantly suspicious. “Lieutenant…this wouldn’t happen to be another…Warehouse 13, would it?”  
“Huh? No. No! I mean, this is real. I heard this weird kinda groaning noise, and then---shit,” he looked dejected. “You’ll never believe me.”  
“Believe what, Lieutenant?”  
“Something…ah…um…well…” he ruffled his hair in embarrassment. “I was, y’know..just sitting at my desk…”  
“With a pornographic lesbian magazine, a roll of stolen food-service gloves and an open jar of Vaseline, “ she prompted, her face impassive.  
“…working on…I mean, I was giving my gun a good polishing…”  
“..no doubt,” Hawkeye nodded. “Go on, Havoc.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d…polished his weapon…alone in the office. First time had occurred when he’d stopped by late at night and passed the Chief and Fullmetal as they hurried out into the night. Soon as he’d walked in the door he’d taken one deep whiff and known instantly what had been going on in the Colonel’s office.  
Hot Cherry Lickable Love Lube. “Warms When You Rub It—Heats Up The Action When You Blow On It. For External Use Only”. Apparently it could be used internally, if the grin on Edward’s face was any indication. And yeah…it was kind of exciting to think of poundin’ the old pud while sitting in the Chief’s big leather chair and getting away with it. He’d done it, gotten away with it and had intended to do it again tonight. He’d dropped trou, gloved up, greased up and turned to the pictorials on page 7 where Velvet was licking chocolate syrup off Misti’s mountains when he heard that…buzzing sound again. He was starting to sweat, so after calling out nervously again, he began that slow, twisting stroke that nearly always drove him…  
…about three feet out of the chair, with a shriek. Something was…intruding, rudely, into territory heretofore only breached by Dr. Knox, proceeded by the words, “Turn your head and cough,Second Lieutenant”.  
“MRRRRROWRRROWRRRRROWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”  
“AUGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!! FUUUUUCKKKKKK!”  
Something tried to bugger him.  
In Mustang’s chair.  
“GAAAHHHHH!” He’s shot out that door as if all the perverted demons of the Letoist hells were after him. He’d run for his life—straight into Riza Hawkeye.

“So,” Hawkeye said slowly, “what you’re trying to suggest is that you were…assaulted by an unknown…”  
“It went after my ass, Sir!” Havoc was looking pale, sweating heavily. “It was growling and kinda…purring.”  
“And you didn’t see it?”  
“I…I didn’t stop to look for it, Sir. I just ran like hell.”  
Hawkeye drew her side arm. “Call the Colonel,” she told him sharply. “Soon as he gets here we’ll investigate…”

“Goddamn it, I’m coming!” Shit, she needed some coffee. Dr. Lin jumped off the cot and was in the Treatment Room before her eyes were half open. “What is it, Bragdon?”  
“It’s Black Hayate, Doctor---get some forceps and hurry!”

“Poor baby…I bet you feel better now.” Dr, Lin rubbed the dog affectionately behind one ear before turning her attention to the foreign object she had just extracted from the dog’s backside.  
When Bragdon had checked on Hayate, she’d found him squatting in the kennel and straining, whimpering miserably. At closer inspection, the dog appeared to be trying to pass what appeared to be—  
“Well, damn!”  
“I’ve heard of this happening, but—“  
“They say the taste is…well, dog’s are always sniffing at it. Can’t resist it.”  
“Could have killed him.”  
“Right. We need to have a little chat with the Colonel and his…subordinate…about their little toy obsession…”

Bliss. Pure unadulterated bliss. Ed was squirming against the mound of pillows as he licked the creamy goodness from his fingers. “Mmmmm…ohh…oh fuck, that’s so damn good!”  
“Ed, you’re sloppy. You’re getting it all over chin.”  
“Huh! Like you’d care if you had it in your mouth.”  
“Fine. Gimme a taste.”  
“Ohh, okay—but just suck it. Don’t bite it.”  
Disgusted, Roy snatched the éclair out of Ed’s hand and ripped it in half for spite. “You sucked all the cream filling out,” he accused.  
“Well yeah,” Ed grinned. “You say that’s what I’m best at, right?”  
Roy gave him a poisonous glare over the rim of his coffee mug. “Don’t give me any ideas, Fullmetal.”  
“Hey, be nice! I’m a burn victim!” Ed protested dramatically as he dug through the bakery box for another cream filled pastry. “I gotta keep up my strength.”  
“And you’re a lying sack of shit. I barely singed—huh? Who the hell is calling this early on a Sunday?” He snatched up the receiver with a frown. “Huh? Doctor Lin? How is—ohhh, that’s good. That’s very—now? Ah…all right. Ten minutes.”

The cold blue barrel of a pistol nudged the door open. Hawkeye waited. Havoc opened his mouth but her gesture silenced him.  
“HEY! What are you two doing here at this hour on a Sunday!”  
Hughes. Damn it. “Shhhhhh, Lieutenant Colonel. There’s an intruder in Colonel Mustang’s office. It….attacked Lieutenant Havoc.”  
“No shit?”  
Three faces peered around the edge of the door. On Mustang’s desk, a large stack of requisition forms was moving. “Freeze, scumbag!”  
MRRRORRROWWWRRROWRRRRRRRRRRR!  
Half a clip later, Hughes, Havoc and Hawkeye surveyed the ruins of Mustang’s prized leather office chair, half buried under a snowstorm of shredded paper. One of those many bullets had found its target.  
“Damn,” Havoc blushed.  
“Men,” Hawkeye rolled her eyes in disgust.  
“Thank goodness,” Maes chuckled evilly. “Still have a few shots on this roll…”

Dr. Lin glanced up from the pathology report she was about to clip to Black Hayate’s chart. “Gunfire? At this hour?” She tossed a glance towards the black and white mongrel who had buried his face in a bowl of kibble. ‘Looks like your mommy’s back in town, boy….”

 

It was with no small relief that Roy knelt down and patted Black Hayate’s head. His eyes were bright, his appetite was enormous and his tail wagged enthusiastically.  
Ed punched the air triumphantly. “Hey, you did it, Doc! And you didn’t even have to fu—er, I mean,” he colored suddenly.  
“Doctor-patient confidentiality, Edward. Which brings us to this little gizmo…”  
She twitched aside the drape that covered a small tin specimine tray.  
Roy peered down, brows knitted. “That’s—“  
“Rubber.” Ed poked it with a scalpel. “And ribbed.”  
“For pleasure.”  
“It’s not ours.”  
Roy slapped his hand over his face. “Ed, you and your big mouth—“  
Ed tossed him a pleading look. “Honest! I mean, we’ve played around with some stuff, but I’ve never shoved anything liked that up my ass.”  
“ED!”  
“—or up your ass, either!”  
“Ed, will you shut up—“  
“GENTLEMEN!” Dr Lin cut in sharply. “This…is a KONG. It’s a dental toy. You can put a piece of kibble in the hole in the bottom and the dog chews on it and the ribs massage the gums, which dogs find very pleasureable. I’m guessing somebody put something—probably peanut butter or cheese—in the hole and Hayate just kept chewing until he’d swallowed it. Lucky for you he got hold of the leftovers of that feast you tried to bribe me with—“  
“---didn’t even bring me any potstickers, you selfish prick,” Ed muttered  
“—and it was apparently what he needed to pass the obstruction. This is made from a rubber that’s not radio-opaque, so we couldn’t see it on the radiographs.”  
“Yeah, Xingian food always goes right through me too,” Ed confirmed.  
Roy opened his mouth. Then, wisely, he shut it.  
Then he handed a generous check to the Doctor. A very generous check. “For the no-cost spay and neuter program,” he explained.  
“And the “Muzzle-A-Vet” program, Dr. Lin added under her breath as they left, Black Hayate trotting obediently at the Colonel’s heels/

“Explanations, please?”  
Hawkeye nodded towards the splintered desktop. Seven inches of Flesh-Flex Super Realistic Vibrating Dong lay in state. It had taken a bullet straight to the frenum, effectively severing the connection between the alchemically-altered battery pack and the motor.  
“Fullmetal,” Roy broke the stunned silence abruptly. “I believe this belongs to you. Get it out of my sight. “  
It was on the tip of Ed’s tongue to suggest something along the lines of up your ass IS out of sight, you bastard. Instead, he shoved the troublesome rubber weenie in his pocket, swore under his breath and stomped off.  
Roy turned on his fellow officers. “Not. One. Word. On pain of my extreme displeasure. Have I made myself understood?”  
“Yessir!” Havoc nodded, hoping roll of gloves wasn’t making too large a bulge at his crotch…on second thought, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all…  
“Lieutenant, Dr Lin will be giving you a call about your choice of dog toys. I’d advise you not to bring any more dental toys to the office…”  
“Dental toys?” Her eyes widened with surprise.  
“Made your dog very ill. He’s fine now,” he put up a cautioning hand,” but let’s not go through anything like that again, shall we?”  
She was very, very puzzled. Very puzzled indeed. “Ah. Yes sir,” she answered, inwardly wondering what in the hell he was talking about. “  
“Bet Hawkeye’s been wanting to shoot your dick for years,” Hughes snickered, waving his camera as he shot out the door, a furious would-be Fuerher hot on his coat-tails.

“You want to tell me what that was all about?”  
Dr. Lin didn’t look up from her dish of leftover noodles. “Hmm?”  
“You’re—I can’t believe you, Doctor!”  
The vet slurped and looked innocent.  
“Chew toys don’t have rechargeable adaptor plugs.” Bragdon accused. “I can’t believe you lied to the Colonel.”  
The vet smiled sadistically. “Fullmetal has a hell of a temper.” She gestured with one chopstick towards the previously digested sex toy, now cleaned, sanitized and labled for storage. “He also doesn’t know a Colt Comanndo Teasin’ Pleaser from a dog toy. The way I look at it,” she took a sip of that excellent XingTsao beer, “Colonel Happy-Ass has been dabbling in something more than a little…alchemy..or should I say little alchemist.  
“Waitaminute—you don’t mean..?”  
“ He knew what the hell it was—and he knows I know. And it’s going to take more than a bunch of damn potstickers to keep this under wraps…”  
She reached for the phone, visions of crispy duck, champagne and imported chocolates—and a new xray machine--dancing in her imagination. “Hello? Maes Hughes, please….I need to speak to him about his…dog…”

 

THE END?


End file.
